Sometimes, he likes to pretend that she hates him. That when she thinks of him, her lip curls and her brilliant eyes narrow and spit fire and disgust, that her heart beats furiously with the overpowering, embittering hate.
But he’s not fooling anyone – he’s not even fooling himself.
She doesn’t hate him at all.
She doesn’t feel anything.
She is indifferent.
And he knows, watching as her eyes slide right past him as though he doesn’t even exist, that indifference is a thousand times worse than hate.
Indifference means that she can’t even be bothered to muster a feeling for him.
He’s irrelevant to her.
Sometimes, she likes to pretend that she doesn’t care about him. She walks down the hallway at school and just him being there makes her stomach flutter a bit, but she ignores him. She pretends like if she can ignore him, she’ll be able to ignore the feeling of desperate hopefulness.
But she’s not fooling anyone, especially not herself – because she takes one look at that dangerously beautiful golden hair, and the flawless of his face, and the endless story of his eyes, and she knows that she could never ignore her idea of perfection.
She wonders if he can see it in the way she looks at him and then takes too long to look away.
She wonders if he even notices.
She wonders if he even cares.
Rose. Rose, Rose, Rose. He could spend all of eternity just saying her name over and over again. Whose idea was it, anyway, to name her Rose? He thought that maybe it was her mother. It could have been her father. It could have been her fifteenth cousin twice removed, or her mother’s pet cat, and he would never know.
He wished he could know, that he could sit with her under the stars and just listen to her talk and talk and talk. He wanted to know everything about her life. What made her smile, what she loved, why she always hugged her cousin in the morning, how she liked to eat her pancakes. He wanted to know all of her favorite things and then spend every day making sure she could have them and be happy.
He tried to run from it, in his defense. He really did. He pretended, for a bit, not to care at all. He walked faster to class to avoid her, and he sat with his back to her table and talked loudly to his friends when he heard her laughing because her laugh was so carefree and innocent that it often made his heart ache just a little.
But he could never do it. He always went back to noticing because she couldn’t be ignored.
The thing about her was that she wasn’t just excellent – she was brilliant. She shone with a kind of iridescence that he could compare with a million burning stars.
He thought she was perfection at its finest.
And, Merlin, he wanted every bit of her perfection.
He wanted to be a part of her glow.
He wanted to be the reason for her glow, or her smile, or even her lingering eyes.
She wished she didn’t care.
But no matter how hard she tried, she just did. She cared about every little thing, and she knew there were a million and one things about him that she loved so much.
Number one on that list was his eyes. Sometimes when she was pretending not to stare at him, his eyes caught on hers and her heart would stop beating altogether. Catching those eyes was like catching a shooting star – fleeting, brilliant, and breathless.
She lost her breath every time.
She wondered, sometimes, why he was named Scorpius. He was too beautiful for such a harsh name. It didn’t fit. But then she saw one of his carefree grins that set her head spinning and she thought that the name was perfect for someone like him, cunning and beautiful and sharp and gentle all at once.
He was her paradox.
And she wanted to spend forever figuring him out.
He was knocked away by the idea – the sudden need to just walk up to her and tell her everything.
It thrummed through his chest and suddenly the world was spinning around him and all he could think was yes, yes, yes and Merlin, he needed to do it.
She was too beautiful to let go of, and he wasn’t going to be played the fool. She wasn’t about to become his biggest regret.
He was going to tell her, indifference or not.
So what if she didn’t care? He cared more than he wanted to even think about, and if she didn’t care, then what was there to lose, really?
Truth was, she was his biggest love and his biggest fear.
Because she had his heart, and she didn’t even know it.
And it terrified him, because she could hold him in the palm of her hand and crush him with a single word.
Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea, he reflected with some chagrin, to put your every wish and desire in one person’s possession, but if it had to be anyone who could hold all of those fragile things, he was glad it was her.
He was just afraid of what she would do with them.
You have my heart, she wanted to tell him. Take care of it.
But it was stupid, really, to give someone your heart when they didn’t even know it was theirs. It was stupid, really, to fall with no one to catch you. It was stupid, really, to attach your winged dreams to a person’s back and expect them to carry them around and make them fly when they didn’t even know that they were there.
It was stupid, really, that she even loved him so much when he couldn’t be bothered.
She knew it was stupid, and that it was pointless and a thousand shades of immature and dumb…but she couldn’t help it. No matter how hard she tried to pretend that she didn’t love everything about him, the fact remained.
So she sat there with her shaded longing glances and her hidden dreams attached to his back and her heart beating with every breath that he took, and drowned in all of her overwhelming feelings and shaking hands and love.
And one day, she thought, maybe it would all change and he would smile just thinking about her. But for right now, it was okay to live in the dream of being in love with no restrictions except reality.
She was beautiful.
That’s it, he knew, the thing that drove him to his desperate longing. She was beautiful, and vibrant, and striking and a hundred million hues of perfect.
There was something about her – something so delicately effervescent – that drove him to her like a planet to a sun. She had this sort of gravitational pull. She was the vibrant center, and everyone wanted to be around her to feel a part of her glow.
There was something about her that shone so brightly, and it almost hurt to look at all of that innocent beauty in one dose. You had to take it in little steps; first her long flowing hair, then her mouth and her skin and finally…(prepare for the breathless feeling in your lungs), finally, her eyes.
Merlin, her eyes.
Of all the words in the English language – or the French language, or the German or Italian or Ancient Greek or Sanskrit or Swahili for Merlin’s sake – there were none to describe those eyes.
It was just…you had to feel it, he decided.
There were no words for the feeling, but you knew it was there.
And he smiled, just thinking about her and those ocean-blue-star-dusted-deep-endless-heart-stopping-war-starting-peaceful-perfect eyes.
It was the last day of school, and she was preparing herself for a life with no more Scorpius.
Honestly, she was quite terrified of the prospect, of being away from the one thing that made her happy all the time, of being unsure and out of the loop and just not with him.
She wasn’t quite sure what to do when all of her little dreams and shards of heart were with him – he had Rose Weasley, and she was just what was left of her shell.
Without Scorpius Malfoy, there was no Rose Weasley.
It was sad how completely dependent she was on this one person’s existence.
She sighed quietly and gazed out at the lake with the taste of bittersweet endings on her lips. Her last hour at Hogwarts, and she was still afraid of life and all of its little pricks and thorns. Shouldn’t a person be immune to all of that after they were ready and full of that Hogwarts Knowledge?
Scorpius probably knew exactly what he was going to do with his life.
She sighed again, wishing she was a part of whatever incredible plans he had decided for himself.
Someone brushed her shoulder with the lightest touch, and an electric current ran through her entire body – she just knew, without even turning around, that it was him.
Her heart raced in her chest as she turned around, like she was preparing herself for the punch of awe that hit her every time she saw his face.
She wasn’t disappointed.
He left her breathless.
She opened her mouth – not knowing what she was going to say, really – but he placed a delicate finger on her lips and handed her a folded-up piece of parchment. She was frozen in place, shocked and over-sensitized and ready to explode into a million little shards of nerves.
And before she could collect all of those little pieces, he turned around and walked away. Her heart ached when she realized it was The End, forever.
Hours later, sitting in her bedroom with moonlight filtering on her pillow, she opened up that piece of parchment.
You are my perfection.
Who was she fooling – there was no way she was going to let this be The End.
It was just the beginning.
“I can’t tell you what it really is,
I can only tell you what it feels like.”
just a little something for you guys while you wait for breathless <3